The line
by Soulreciever
Summary: It feels like coming home, which, much like the spiral of fear and utter mindless joy coiled tight in his belly, makes a great deal of sense when looked at right. (Season 2 spoilers pretty well from the word go, likely future AU)
1. Chapter 1

It feels like coming home, which, much like the spiral of fear and utter mindless joy coiled tight in his belly, makes a great deal of sense when looked at right.

Because, though the wooded road leading down, down, into Storybrooke is not just physically miles from the metropolitan sprawl of New York, which is as much 'home' as anywhere else these days, it's certainly reminiscent of his boyhood village.

Thinking about 'back then', about who he had been before and after magic had so throughly tainted his life, makes him feel both suddenly old and more than a little regretful for all he'd lost in the process.

It also has him wanting to bolt once more, to follow through the terrible habit of running when things got a little uncomfy that had, regretfully, become habit over the years.

He'd had his chance though back in the apartment when even looking at that one, life changing, word had had him so very certain that, actually, he much preferred being who he was now, forgetting that he'd ever had another life or a parent who loved _him_ rather than the revenue keeping him generated.

So he'd started securing money, packing what little he'd need to make it across state tp his next bolt hole nd then...

Then his phone's ringing.

His honest to goodness land line and, though there's only one person who has the number, he'd still answered because why bother with the postcard if he was just going to ring anyway?

"Bae."

"Pi. A sigh, as always, for the nickname that's as much tease as work about the other's frankly ridiculous birth name, then,

"You're running again." That it hadn't been a question is a tell of how long they've known on another and, it'd irked him terribly, had him falling back into the old argument all over again and somehow driving him out here just to spite the other.

A breath, to let go the nervous little boy who's suddenly resurfaced after years of being repressed without much argument, then he fumbles free his mobile and dials his friends before he can place anymore thought about the idea...talk himself out of it again,

"So I'm here...kind of...and I suddenly got back onto wondering just why you'd bother calling me after sending that postcard."

"I knew you'd need pushing and so when transforming back took a little longer than I'd thought I sent the postcard...of course then things turned out a little more complex than it'd initially seemed and I had thought to warn you about that..."

"But then things got heated."

"Right,"

"Ok, so describe 'complicated' for me."

"Stepping outside the town border apparently wipes away any trace of who you were in the other world."

"It shouldn't affect me though, right? I mean it's not as though I was ever directly involved in the whole matter of the curse."

"No, but _someone_ brought magic back and that's made everything uncertain."

"Papa."

"Of course, but..."

"Don't start making excuses for him."

"Right, fair enough."A beat then, "Don't let this drive you off Bae, this was always about more than your father, after all."

"I know...I just..."

"I have whisky."

"Pour me a dram then."

Another deep breath, this one in the wild hope of somehow beating down the bad thoughts without a little liquid help and then he's taking a tentative step over the bright orange line sprayed out on the tarmac.


	2. Chapter 2

He'd been sat in another dive, chasing shaddows in some crazy spur of hope he'd known would die the moment he found concreet evidence, when he meets Baelfire for the first time.

Plain, almost deliberartly so, as though he is wearing mediocracy like a mask and it draws his eye, has him pushing aside social convetions and ordering the other a whisky.

A cursory acknowlidgement the expense and the other had gone back to his apparently highly involved game of sollitare.

It's then that he notices the incongrauaties, the age on the cards and the odd, almost retro, style of his clothes.

It's a look he recognises from his reflection, a look that shows an innate discomfot with this world and a repressed want to cling to another.

He might, of course, still have been wrong, seeing little more than someone stuck in their way and yet...

He buys another drink, writes a note and, no matter how he knows its going to look now, sends it in the other mans direction.

Surprisingly he does actually read the note, his brow furrowing in what looks like confusion before he's collecting his cards, his coat and walking out the bar, pausing a moment to state, "I'm not interested," before he's gone.

He'd been certain that'd be it, that the mystery would never truly solve itself and then...

...then Bae and Emma had found one another, begun the love affair that'd produced Henry and that'd ended when Bae had clicked that Emma had also come from their 'neck of the woods' and allowed his paranioa to get the better of him.

Quite what he has to be paranoid about is something Bae has ever quite put to words, but it'd had him twisted up enough to somehow think him a part of 'it' and come yelling for a stop to everything.

To be left the hell alone.

It'd actually worked out for the best because he'd been able to let the other know how far off track he was. To tell him that he'd broken both Emma's and his own heart for no good reason.

Of course instantly the other had been all desperate plan to find her again, to make ammends somehow and yet, by that point, Emma had gone again to ground.

They'd kept in contact after that, though given that they'd both developed the love of their own company it'd been little more than a phonecall here or a letter there.

And then Emma has decided to stay in Storybrooke.

Leg in agony and very, very, aware of the duty he'd been chirking for so very long he'd made the choice to at last make good his promise to his father.

Emma had been but a baby the last he'd seen her, however, and he was as likely to make things worse as he was better.

So he'd phoned Bae and inlisted the other's help.

Henry, or rather that Emma had hidden him away so very compleetly and made utterly certain the boy wouldn't go chasing after Bae the way he'd chased after her, had allmost undone everything.

Had had his friend retreeting back into himself and threatening to cut contact entirely.

So he'd gotten desperate, confronted Rumplestilskin and been rewarded for the risk with the knowledge that the Imp truly regretted his actions.

Wished, more than anything, to have his son back at his side.

That he'd used magic to do as such, pulled so many innocent lives in for what seemed little more than whim, had done little to impress Bae and yet it'd been enough to keep the other on side.

To work at the other's mentality until he was doing this as much for the hope of somehow winning Emma back as at last reuniting with his father.

Of course he understood how heady the thought of at last getting abck all you'd wished for was, he'd spent the last few hours moving about with the express intent of avoiding the inevitablity of his own 'happy ending' after all and yet this had never really been about Bae.

No, this had been about somehow undoing the harm his choice to leave Emma had caused, of healing as much of the woman's scars as he was able and thus somehow asuaging his guilt.

Make himself, at last, worthy to see his father's face once more.

So he'd pushed as much as Bae would let him, left the poentially risky news of magic's return to the last possible moment and allowed himself a moment of smug pride when he'd gained a result.

It's fading the moment he sees how tired his friend looks, as though he's some ellaborte water colour that's been smudged a little about the edges.

"You look like hell."

A sharp laugh and a habitual mussing of hair before he repplies, "Mmm, someone'd think I'd just sat on a train for more hours than was likely sain." A beat then, "You guys have a tornado or something?"

"Not quite, no."

Which is more than enough for Bae to catch the general jist of where the rest of this is heading and enquire,

"So what did he use the magic for then?"

"To conjour a wraith."

He can see the moment the penny drops, can see the self same confusion he'd felt when he'd first heard the news and smiling, he states, "The word on the street is that there's a girl involved."


	3. Chapter 3

"The rumour on the street is that it's because of a woman."

He'd seen the tears in his father's eyes the day his mother had, supposedly, died, had known them somehow false and yet to think that she too was here..

...that she'd not only found a way to live the same countless centries as his father, but also returned to the life she'd so thoughtlessly abandoned...

...childish fantasy.

Still the thought that he had, eventually, found someone, that he loved her well enought to attempt the changes he could never quite manage for his sake, is as pleasent as it is hurtful.

It's temptign to chase after the rumour, to find this woman and learn as much of her...of his father...as he can without exposing his identity.

He is as about ready his own reunion with his father as his freind is for his, however, and so he instead enquires,

"How is Emma...now that she knows everything" The silence that follows is a little too long to bode well and, looking hard into his friend's eyes, he enquires, "Pi, what aren't you telling me?"

"The wraith was meant for Regina but, understandably, Henry didn't want her dead, she's still the one who raised him no matter is she's the evil queen or no."

"Emma interveened?"

"Mm, I'm not so sure on the details, there's only so much you can pick up from anyone before you being unnessiceraly nosy starts raising eyebrows, but the general gist is that she and Snow got dragged back into our world."

"What about Henry?" That he's worried about the child..._his_ child...is a strange thing and yet, simply for the sake of his freind's smile, he knows it positive compulsion.

"He's with his grandfather."

In the last few years he's heard a great deal of 'charming', the mann who'd turned his back on a life of luxury all for the woman he loved and who had single handedly battled an army of Regina's strongest men all to insure Emma the best of head starts.

It'd had him envious, no matter if Emma had actually had the oppertuinty to know what it was to be raised a truly brave man and now...

Unprompted, at least as far as he can tell, August is offering out his hand and stating, "Let's make a deal; I'll talk to father if you talk to Henry."

In his mind's eye he can see his father as he had been the last they'd truly talked, skin a raised alien landscape and his monster's gaze fixed on his outstretched palm as though it were as dangerous to him as the dagger.

The deal that had, eventually, followed, the deal that had changed everything, had been the first and last that he had ever struck. The scars its conculsion had carved into his phyce making him understandanly weary of bartering on something as fragile as a person's word.

He knows August knows this, knows the other will understand well the memories he is invoking with that one, simple, phrase and the risk he takes in doing as such. Knows this as much push as the postcard and the phonecall.

Thus he does not bite back as is his intitial compulsion, does not even acknowledge the challenge laced there in the other's open palm, but instead enquires,

"It's about time you trusted me to do the right thing on my own steam, don't you think?"

An expression that looks for all the world like pride and then a more dangerous mask as he retorts,

"Fine, but if you hurt her again you'll not only have me to answer to but pretty well everyone else in this town."

"Right, got it." With which he's slugging back the whisky that'd been poured for him and enquring, "Where will I find them?"

"Grannies and it'll be quicker if I just walk you this time."

He's half tempted to question what boils down to further coddling on the other's part, however, he knows that's only beause doing as such will prompt a mild argument and buy a little more time before...

...Before he's standing in the doorway of a 50's throwback diner, the very real shape of his son balanced on a stool a few feet away, mouth twisted into a smile as his grandfather regales him some tale or another.

He looks so very much like the boy he used to see in the mirror, so pure...innocent...and he finds himself swamped the earlier feeling of inadiquacy.

What right did he have to even attempt to draw friendship from Henry, let alone claim him as his son?

Doubt, the ever present compulsion to run and then August is sweaping by, ruffling Henry's hair playfully before gesturing over in his direction and stating, "Sorry i've not been about kiddo but I had to go help my buddy over there with a few things."

With which the weight of those eyes, Emma's eyes, are settled fully on him a moment before Henry enquires,

"You're not from around here, are you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Bae hesitates and he steps in, tells a winding story that entirely sidesteps Henry's question which of course, serves only to pique the boy's curiosity but proves enough to distract Charming who, after a few minutes looks to the dinner's clock and enquires,

"Are you still going to be alright watching Henry for a while?" Which is him well and truly busted, but then Bae knows him well enough by now to have realised he was keeping a few 'cards' close to his chest even if he isn't best pleased with the exact nature of those 'cards', shooting him a look akin to murder as he responds to Charming with,

"Sure, Neil here loves kids and it's not as though we'd had much planned past a good catch up anyway."

"Great, get him home by seven ok." With which he's shrugging back on his coat and all but running out of the dinner,

"So what's gramps up to that he's desperate enough to turn to me of all people kiddo?"

"Getting Mum and Grandma back here, though you knew that already, right?"

"Right,"

"You'll know he's looking for you as well then, right?" It's a kick in the stomach, a cheep manipulation technique which he knows nothing more than the kid's innocent, impossibly, want to make sure everyone gets their 'happily ever after.'

So he's honest, tell Henry that he's not quite ready and the kid simply gives him a look before turning to Bae and enquring,

"So how did you and August meet…?"

"Ah, of course, where are my manners? This is Neil Cassady and we happened upon one another in the very depths of hell."

"August," As much warning to do as he'd promised and keep his nose out as it is for him to treat at least this seriously.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm kidding of course, we just bumped into one another along the way."

"By which he means his publishing company felt his stuff could do with an illustrator and introduced us to see if we'd get on." It's not quite a lie, Bae is as much artist as he is author, after all, and it's enough to settle at least Henry's initial curiosity.

To get the kid thinking through the likely minute list of artistically gifted character's in his storybook to see if there's a link, which is much, much, safer ground. Bae's story had begun so many years before their own, had _begun_ at least this part of their tales, after all, which means he'll have left no mark in the book.

So he let's the boy be, orders them all a round of Grannies decident coco and settles himself into a corner booth.

Henry follows after him, settling into the seat opposite and thanking him for his drink before his mind turns again on itself and his expression becomes somewhat sober.

Bae takes a few minutes more, composing himself as subtly as he is able and fussing a little with his appearance with aid from the back mirror a few moments in clear nervousness before, at last, settling in at his side.

"So what's the current plan?" Which earns him a clearly uncomfortable look and, glancing over his shoulder to assure themselves as much alone as possible, Bae states,

"I'm from the enchanted forest too."

"But you weren't cursed were you?"

"That's right, you see I'd come to this world a long time before anyone even dreamed a curse might be cast on our world…a time when it seemed impossible that anyone would feel that much hate or hold that much power…running away because it'd seemed the only real way out." It's the first that Bae's told at least a portion of his story without provocation, the first he's seen his friend truly risk anything and it does him well to see the thing rewarded, to watch Henry visibly relax as he leans a little towards his father and enquire,

"Then why come to Storybrooke?"

"I'm hoping I might be able to see someone again."

"Your true love?"

"Yes, but how…?"

"You looked a little like Grandma did while she believed Grandpa someone else's husband…sad and lost and so very alone." A moment and then the kid is leaning back into his chair, bundling up his hot chocolate and enquiring, "Did August tell you about the book?"

"He did but I'm not sure how much help it'll be kid…"

"We can try, right?" The face Henry makes then is a face that is all together impossible to deny and, as Bae visibly slumps the boy enquires, "So what do you remember about her?"


	5. Chapter 5

Given how angry Emma is likely to be with him for even talking to Henry as simply aquaintences he's no want to push his luck futher by letting the boy know that she's his 'true love' and, given how quick the kid seems to be with making connections, thus indavertently revealing that a) he's the kid's father and b) that his mother has told him a direct lie.

Still the thought of lying compleetly doesn't even enter his head, a novelty that can only be attributed to the sudden parental impulses bubbling to the surface, parental impulses that make a few of the Dark One's actions seem just that little less extreem and, shaking that thought from his head before it can muster, he'd responded

"Truthfully I was just a little older than you were when I last saw her..."

A beat and for a moment it'd seemed as though he'll take the hint and let everything go, then,

"Oh, how about we go to the Libary? It's not long been re-opened but I've heard it's still got all the old books in it and with Miss French's help I'm sure we can at least jog your memory!"

With which they'd all but chugged back the rest of their coco under Henry's every watchful, excited, eyes, de-camped to Storybrooke's somewhat cavernous libary and he'd started on the painful process of blagging his way through the situation without ever actually lying.

Eventually, what proves but a half hour later, Henry begins to visibly droop and, hands itching to brush the hair a little from his face, he'd remarked, "I think you should call it a day kid."

"...'M ok..." it's a half felt lie, one he'd told time and time again when he'd been about Henrys age, desperate to prove himself enough of an adult that his papa didn't have to worry so and yet ruled still the fragility of his child's body.

Something in his face key's August into his line of thought as, smiling that same proud little smile, the ex-puppet gently hefts the boy into his arms and, informs him, "Neil will call if he finds anything," as he begins navigating his way out of the libary.

Sleepy eyes that so mirror his mother's turn in his direction a moment later as Henry enquires, "Promise?"

"I promise," which sounds just about as emotional as he feels right now and thank god that the kid's not awake enough to question that fact, to even really register the words past a soft little noise because right about now he's feeling brittle enough to shatter at simply a feather touch.

Which makes the gentle hand against his shoulder, the warm cup of tea sliding into view and the enquiry of, "You're his father aren't you?" all the more shocking.

Still there must be some form of magic there in the impossible blue of the librarian's eyes for, rather than denying or avoiding the accusation he finds himself simply nodding as he takes a drink of the severly sweetened tea.

"I thought so, there's a look in your eyes that I've seen before, a broken sort of yearning...ah, sorry, I'm still getting used to dealing with people again."

"It's ok from what August tells me you've all had a hard time of it recently." A smile because it feels the right thing to do even if it looks as shallow as it feels, then, "You were locked away?"

"As a contingency plan, or at least that's the impression I've been left with." A smile that is all warmth and sunshine then, "You're from out there as well then, like Pinochio and the Saviour?"

"I am."

"What's it like?"

"Were you ever told not to go somewhere so often that all you wanted to do was to go to that place, that you spent every waking hour, often every sleeping one as well, planning just how you were going to get to the place without being caught?"

"Yes."

"The world outside this border is just like that forbidden place, special until the very moment you step into it and realise why you were being kept away...realise that the place is as dangerous or strange as you had been told and that, really, you should have listend all along."

A long moment then, "Thank you for the honesty Mr Cassidy," before she gains again her feet and enquires, "Is there anything I can actually help you with now that you're free to be yourself again, a person or a place that you'd like to look up?"

It's a little too much like teptation given his current state and taking another long sip of tea, he responds with the enquiry of, "I don't supose you have a section on old folk myths, do you?"

At one am precisly he is woken by the sound of someone attempting to lockpick his doorway, someone hopelessly drunk if the ammount of noise and, yep, off key singing is anything to go by and, momenterally wishing he could flip between human and wooden at will, he rolls himself out of bed.

Opening the door presents, to no surprise, Bae's scraggly form collapsing into his room, face an open expression of rather comically over the top surprise.

"You're drunk."

"Maybe a little...but there were reasons...good reasons that I seem to have forgotten right now...but they were good."

"Right, reasons that would explain trying to break into my room, yes?"

"That's right!"

It's the first he's seen his freind truly drunk, indeed the first he's seen him doing anything that would cause him to loose the control he knows so very important to him, the control he's convinced Bae thinks will keep him from turning into the Dark One also.

It's a foolish belief, of course, most especially given that Bae has seen, first hand, how the curse of the Dark One passes from victim to victim, still it's the only thing that makes sense given how obessive compulsive Bae can get about things being just so and that, in a weaker moment, his friend had confessed that he still occationally had nightmares in which the Dark One was featured previlently.

He'd been certain he'd let the pretext of the libary go once he and Henry were far enough away, perhaps charm grannie into letting him have a room on short notice or, as he'd thought more likely, break his way into the little yellow bug that he and Emma had named home before everything had gone sour. But, given his current state, it was clear he'd done anything but, had started peering a little closer to the stories connected his own life and happened upon something that had had him so desperate to forget he'd taken desperate measures.

There's no need for him to know, the hang over Bae will have in the morning should be enough to discourage him from taking this extreem again and, from Charming's mood when he'd at last returned from the mine, he'd hazard a guess that it wouldn't be long before Emma returned to give Bae something else to be thinking of.

Still that it's driven the boy so very far, lead him here of all places, has him curious enough that he's hefting him up onto the bed, making him a strong cup of coffee, all in the effort to sober him up enough so that when he enquires, "Why are you here Bae?" he's confident he'll get some form of response.

It still takes a while but, evetually, brow furrowing deep, the other informs him, "I started finding little references to him, casual references to deals he'd brokered or people he'd transformed for what seemed such silly reasons.

"I wasn't stupid enough to think he'd let go just because we'd been seperated, but I suppose I'd thought he'd ease off a little. Instead...instead he got worse and it was _because _of me, because he regretted not comming with me and was willing to do anything to get me back again.

"All those people, August...so many people hurt or cursed or seperated for my sake...god if not for me Emma would never have had to be alone...but then you've known that for a while now, haven't you?"

A lie would be so easy right about now, Bae is still drunk enough to miss his oh so subtle tells, after all, and yet...

"After you told me who you were I got curious, started looking into everything a little deeper and, eventually, I found this." With which he's lifting open the box for his typewriter by the other catch and exposing a very small, aging, book upon which are emblazened the words 'rumpelstiltskin'.

Bae lets out a little sound, part vocal affermation, part pain and then, "You took five in total just incase the libary got opened again while the curse was still in place, it wouldn't do for Regina to realise that someone else knew the truth, after all and if this was the only book to have gone walking she'd done just that.

"Of course when Miss French told me about the missing books I knew it had to be you, no one else other than the Blue Fairy knows who I am and she was still cursed when the books went missing."

"It didn't take a genious to figure out that Regina was the child in the story, that the Dark One had wanted her at his side as a contingency plan, a pawn to manipulate into casting his curse if all else failed..."

"And here we are."

"I won't apologise, Bae,"

"No, I didn't expect you to, you made the wrong choice for the right reasons, after all...oh so selfish reasons, but right reasons none the less." Which is as about as close to forgiveness as he's likely to get and oh so much more than he knows he deserves given everything.

"So, what now?"

"Now you help me steal the realm jumper's hat."


	6. Chapter 6

He'd be the first to admit that he hadn't really reacted to the knowledge that Emma's deepest scars had been carved because of his connection to The Dark One so very well.

Still there'd been something to say for the muzzy haze the drink had placed over his mind, the one blissful chance to forget entirely who he was and then…

…then he'd gotten angry and irrational and oh so desperate to prove that, actually, he'd been mistaken.

That somehow he'd fitted all the clues together in an illogical manner and all the stuff with the books had just been August being August.

Of course his life being what it was that hadn't proved the case and, half sober, he'd bled out the last of the truth from his so called friend…

…been confronted the reality that he'd been betrayed by the one of the two people he'd ever allowed himself to trust and for what?

So that the damned puppet could play at the hero, reunite him with Emma…with Henry…and claim it duty done.

He'd had enough of being pawn and excuse, enough of other's pushing his life about for their own needs.

He was ceasing control of his own god damned life, thank you very much, and right now the consequences of it all could be damned.

Getting the hat had proved so very easy for a well seasoned petty thief such as himself and a quiet little word with Blue had secured not only the fairy dust he'd need for the trip, but also the assurance that, with a little bit of twisting, he wasn't walking himself into a time paradox.

There was one last thing to do before he went, however, one last burning issue that needed addressing before 'the plunge' so he shaves, gets himself looking as presentable as he is able in his travel clothes, says goodbye to August, then walks the short distance to the pawn shop.

The bell draws The Dark One from what looks to be a rigorous session of bookkeeping and, instantly, he's but a boy again.

August had warned him, of course, long before everything else had come to crowd the information out of his head and, honestly, even before that it'd never really taken rout…had been little more than a barely touched on aside until seeing it with his own eyes had carved it deep into his very soul.

Still as The Dark One's smile twists up his papa's face he feels again sturdier and, taking breath, he states simply, "I only ever wanted you as you, it didn't matter to me that you were lame or that other's called you a coward, all that mattered was that you loved me enough to stay…that you were brave enough to face everyone else's disgust and pity for my sake." It's only a fraction of what he has want to say, the smallest leaching of all the pain and yet, in the circumstances, it's more than enough to be going on with.

The Dark One lingers a mere moment more and then his papa is there, rounding the counter and pulling him tight into his arms,

"My boy…my boy…"

In his arms, surrounded the aroma he had known his entire boyhood, that had almost always been a scent of safety and security, he almost relents. Allows himself to be swept into the fiction that all is as it was because that's all he's ever, secretly, ever wished for and yet…

…he catches sight of his face in a mirror, sees well the lines that make the fiction just that and, though it wrenches his heart, he pulls away with a gruff, "No, no longer."

It hurts his father, of course, no matter how The Dark One tries to mask the fact, slices hard into wounds he knows the other has carried a long, long, time. Still he will not regret, will not allow the path he has chosen for himself to be diverted by foolish boyhood fantasies and, pulling the hat from its hiding place within the lining of his coat, he adds, "I'll change that though, make everything the way it should have been."

The frown that appears on his papa's face bolsters his confidence, for it means that his chosen path is enough risk that even The Dark One has never considered it and thus, in turn, never thought to place any traps to derail the whole thing.

That warm thought in mind he steps a little away and, placing the hat onto the floor, begins to spin it.

As the portal forms he can see the panic finally settling in, can see his papa's fear at loosing him again bleeding away the last traces of The Dark One.

So he smiles, informs him, "Don't worry, once I'm done you won't even remember this happened. No one will," before he leaps down, down, into another world…

…another time.

Papa is so frightened of them finding him, so sure that if he goes, fights as he wishes, they will never again see one another.

He knows that papa can not help the fear, that loosing mama had hurt him so deeply…left him so very lonely…so he does not fight back when papa says they are running, risking everything for the chance to be free.

Keeps his fears and want to be brave, to grow enough that papa need not worry so for him, close to his chest.

Still the wish of another way must bleed free somehow for, as he stumbles against a tree rout, he finds himself face to face with a tiny, beautiful, woman dressed all in blue.

"I have come to help you Baelfire."

"You know me?"

"In a sense," A smile, though it is an adult one, full of edges he can not understand in the least, then, "The thing you wish for shall not come quickly or easily, but if you are brave and trust in the goodness there in your father's heart all shall be well."

"What would you have me do?"

"A darkness will come to claim your father very soon and, once it has done as such, you must give him this rose," a wave of a delicate hand and there between them appears the most beautiful rose he has ever seen. "Upon it is a great enchantment which will keep you both held in time and trapped as something other than you are now, an enchantment that will only be broken by true loves kiss."

The thought of the power behind such magic frightens him and yet, as papa's voice calls out in search of him, that fear dissipates at the understanding that, if nothing else, it will insure that they remain together.

So he takes the rose and runs to catch up in order that he might claim the delay thanks to poor night vision and his clumsy feet, might keep the enchantment of the rose as a last resort.

She had no real want to be here, her tomboy nature making her feel un-comfy in the elegant, laced, finery of the dress mama had picked out for her and her warrior's heart making the ballroom feel all too much like a gilded cage.

Still she _was_ to inherit the kingdom one day and there was something to be said for making an impression, to be _seen_ once in a while, rather than hiding always in the forest.

Not that she'd ever admit as such out loud, much preferring mama to believe that she was relenting because she'd been bullied into it, rather than because she knew her to be right. Because, though she loved her parents, respected them for becoming what they were from what they'd been, they really hadn't started accepting that she was a grown adult now and thus capable of making her own choices in life. A battle that she'd long given up fighting head on, much preferring the elation of getting one other them without them knowing she'd done as such, but, in situations such as this one, allowing them to believe her still rebellious teenager was just as much fun, if only for the chance of catching papa rolling his eyes as mama rattled on, rather hypnotically, about what was expected of a 'proper lady.'

The smile that the mental image provokes fades the very instant yet another minor noble comes to request her company in a dance, complimenting her looks in such over arcing, vapid, terms that she wants to scream.

If only Pinocchio were here, she muses as she smiles sugar sweet and cries off on account of a minor dizzy spell or something else of the like, the ex-puppet always found a way to add a little sparkle to the otherwise frankly dull monotony of nights such as this, after all. Still her childhood friend is away right now proffering his father's wears in some of the outlying kingdoms and, like as not, bedding as many women as foolish as to fall for his devil may care smile and roguish manner.

The thought further sours her mood and she's contemplating the task of escaping unnoticed when a semi familiar face catches her eye from across the room.

They've never been introduced, he existing a little outside the sort of circles she tended to be pushed into while at functions such as this, but she knows his story, or at least the many rumours that his story has created over the years and she's seen him often enough in the forest…laughing with Pinocchio when it seems certain he believes them 'alone'…to notice how strangely separated from everything he is.

Always her heart has gone out to him, though she has never felt brave enough to cross the line and actually talk to him…turn him into something more than an object to ignite her imagination.

There is something, perhaps, in the way he looks tonight, or maybe in the state of her own mind, because, the very moment she sees his face she is moving towards him.

Curtsying low and graceful as though it is as much second nature to her as walking, she informs him, "Emma Charming," as though she is someone else entirely and there's little chance of him having the advantage of already knowing her name.

"Baelfire Villeneuve." A gentleman's bow then, mouth twisting into a smile that has her heart pumping just a little faster, he enquires, "So, want me break you out of this place for a while, Princess?"

"On one condition."

"Name it."

"You find me a pair of trousers along the way."

Laughter suits his face well and she finds herself memorising the fact, scrabbling for the few truly funny jokes she knows so that she might, at some point, pull again the expression from him.

"Done," he remarks as he takes her hand in his and begins to run.


End file.
